


The Feast of the Ingathering

by KatieHavok



Series: Breeding Lilacs [31]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autumn, Domestic Fluff, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Food as a Metaphor for Love, M/M, Multi, Post-Movie 1: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Rare Pairings, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-12-29 16:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 3,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12089193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieHavok/pseuds/KatieHavok
Summary: A collection of drabbles and ficlets from various autumn-themed prompts over on Tumblr. Chapter titles contain pairing(s) and prompt.





	1. Goldgramander: leaf raking/leaf piles.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dresupi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dresupi/gifts), [ravensnwritingdesks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravensnwritingdesks/gifts), [Annjushka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annjushka/gifts), [Too_Much_Fandom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Too_Much_Fandom/gifts).



*

They pile into Newt’s car to drive to the home improvement depot, purchasing three sturdy rakes and paper bags before heading home. The wind plays with Tina’s long, dark hair as she pilots the car, and they sing along to the radio (well, she and Newt sing along; Percival just stares dreamily out the window) before hitting the drive-thru for coffee’s and heading home.

Two hours and three cups of coffee later, and there’s plenty of grumbling and calloused palms to go around. Tina leans against her rake while blowing a strand of hair off her forehead. “ _Who’s_  idea was this?”

Percival, looking sweaty and uncomfortable, sends Newt, who seems none the worse for wear, a flat look. "It was his, though I’m still not sure why we went along with it.”

Flushing, Newt spreads his arms to encompass the massive yard and trees surrounding their house, a smile pulling at his lips. “It all has to go somewhere,” he tells them cheerfully, “and really, there’s no better way to start a compost pile.” 

His smile finally breaks through, a sunny grin that lights up his face. “Besides–didn’t you say you wanted a garden, Percival?” He gestures to the chosen plot with a cocked eyebrow as Tina and Percival exchange a look.

“Well,” Tina admits, “I guess it isn’t so bad after all.” She rubs her palms together and flexes her fingers before glancing at the pile of leaves. “It’s actually kinda nice. I remember going upstate to help my Grandparents when Queenie and I were kids. We would spend the whole day gathering leaves, then we’d go in the house to eat cookies and drink cider.” She sighs with a wistful, far-off look in her eyes, missing the devious glance Percival and Newt share over her shoulder.

“How would you play in the leaves?” Percival asks idly.

Tina turns to smile at him, her hair a dark storm cloud around her head. “We’d jump in them, and sometimes our parents would swing and throw us in.”

Newt sets down his rake to flank her from behind, meeting Percival’s eyes for a bare moment before crouching by her calves. The other man employs his legendary poker face to take her hands, casually leaning in to kiss her nose. “You mean…kinda like  _this_?”

She blinks in momentary confusion, only to shriek playfully when Newt wraps his arms around her knees and hefts her. Percival catches her beneath the arms at the same time, effectively trapping her, and she struggles between bouts of laughter as the men march over to the leafy mound.

A three-count sees her launched into the highest crest, giggling breathlessly when she lands in a cacophony of brittle sounds. She sinks into the mound and out of sight, only to surface with leaves in her hair and tangled in her scarf, cheeks flushed, dark eyes bright with humor.

“Ooh–you–!” she gasps, struggling out of the stack. “Just you wait–just you  _wait_ –I’m going to drag both of you into that pile  _myself_ , see if I don’t!”

“You’ll have to  _catch_  us first,” Newt drawls, only to skitter back nimbly, the yellow-and-black tassels of his scarf trailing behind him when Tina gives chase, a smirking Percival hot on her heels.

*


	2. Newtina: Frost.

* 

There’s frost on the windowpane, and covering the ground. Tina stands at the window wearing his ragged blanket and nothing else, taking in the sea of sparkle-lights that is the grass as the sun rises. 

It is warm and cozy here in this little cabin, his scent still heavy on her skin, and the first golden rays of dawn color her hand peach-pale where it touches the glass.

“Beautiful,” a sleep-roughened voice murmurs. 

She turns to find Newt watching her keenly, his hair tumbled to all corners as he leverages himself off the creaky mattress. He’s as naked as she is, the sun turning his hair into molten gold, his freckles into stars. She holds her breath until he slides an arm around her waist to kiss her shoulder. “Good morning, darling.”

Tina touches the notch in his throat. “It’s a good morning now,” she tells him, and the pastel hues of first light glint on his scars like sun-burnished frost when she pulls him in for a kiss.

*


	3. Queenewt: Seeing your breath.

*

His breath hangs around his head in a white cloud as he paces the icy harbor, the precious pink scarf tucked securely around his neck.

The boat appears first as a speck, then a moat, then a sudden, solid reality, and Newt vibrates with impatience as the moorings are secured and the planks are lowered. Temporarily pushing aside his general distaste for both crowds and people, he gathers at the foot of the walkway to await her, tingling hands shoved deep in his pocket.

She appears like the impending dawn, a flash of pink and blue and gold, wearing his school scarf and a radiant smile. Newt watches the sway of her hips as she makes her careful way toward him, her eyes positively dancing with joy when she comes to a halt.

“Hey, honey,” she breathes, each word curling into the air, and stands on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He wants nothing more than to turn his head and claim her in a proper kiss but they are truly in the thick of it now, afloat in a sea of people, and his skin prickles with nerves as he restrains himself to kissing her knuckles.

Queenie can sense his discomfort and need, of course; she always has been able to read him, accent or no. She dazzles him with a wide grin and a breathy, “You’re sweet,” before lacing her arm through his own.

“C’mon, baby,” she murmurs, eyes lighting up mischievously. “Take me home and I’ll make sure we’re  _both_  warm.”

Newt is _not_  inclined to argue, so he takes her pink luggage before maneuvering them through the crowd, his eyes never leaving her cherished face until he puts his arms around her and Disapparates them away.

*


	4. Newtina: Renting a cabin.

*

Tina precedes him into the little cabin, only to come to a dead stop halfway through the door. Newt, following closely behind with his head in the clouds, bumps into her with a muffled  _oof!_ , his body a solid, masculine wall at her back.

“There’s only one bed.” Her voice sounds high and panicky to her own ears, and she winces before turning to him. He glances confusedly over her shoulder before shrugging awkwardly, a quick twitch of his arms.

“Well, yes,” he says, eyeing her nervously. “I…I was rather under the impression that was the entire point of coming out here, Tina. So we could enjoy some privacy.  _Together_.” He peers into her face before dropping his eyes to his boots, his mouth compressing into a firm line. “If I was wrong, then please forgive me for being presumptuous, and know that I am perfectly content with sleeping in my case.”

She turns to place a calming hand on his chest, choosing to ignore his small gasp. “You’re not wrong,” she manages through a suddenly tight throat and attempts a smile. “It just caught me by surprise, that’s all. I kinda forgot about all that, to be honest…”

Newt nods, still not looking up. “I understand,” he says hoarsely, and steps around her to lay his case on the floor. “I think I’ll go tend to my creatures now if you don’t mind. It’s rather late, and they’ll need their suppers–”

Tina cuts him off by taking his hand. His words stumble to a halt before he finally chances a look up at her, his eyes narrowed as if bracing for a blow. 

“I said I forgot,” she corrects him gently. “I didn’t say that I don’t  _want_  to, because I do.” She flicks her eyes past him at the comfortable-looking bed, dressed in a faded but clean quilt. “Actually, I think we’re going to  _need_  to sleep together while we’re here because I’m not sure there are enough blankets to go around.”

“We’ll be warm enough,” Newt mutters, and she watches color crawl over his neck to infuse his face. “I mean–I have blankets in my case if it comes to that–I wasn’t  _implying_ –”

She lays a finger over his lips, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Maybe  _I_ was,” she breathes, brushing her mouth against his. “Maybe that’s why I suggested this in the first place. Did you ever think of that?”

Newt wraps his hands around her own, holding them tight. “No,” he gasps and closes his eyes while leaning closer. “I mean,  _yes_ –I did think of that, actually, but I didn’t dare to  _believe_  it.”

Tina chuckles and nuzzles his nose with her own, delighting in his ragged breathing. “Well, believe it,” she whispers and dips her chin. “Now, what are you waiting for? Are you going to kiss me, Mr. Scamander, or do I have to do  _all_ the work around here?”

He gulps audibly, fingers tightening around hers until they creak as he finds her eyes. “M-mustn't leave a lady hanging,” he says hoarsely, and she smiles in triumph before he seals them together with a kiss.

*


	5. Newtina: Whiskey.

*

Whiskey dribbles over her lip when the shot glass wavers, staining her chin as she giggles helplessly, eyes bright.

Newt reaches out to wipe it away, missing the first time–causing another impromptu ripple of laughter–before molding his fingers to the edge of her jaw. Suddenly serious, Tina looks at him expectantly, her gaze falling to his mouth before returning to his eyes.

He doesn’t question the impulse when he leans in, pressing his lips to her chin to suction up the alcohol before brushing her mouth against his. She tastes like whiskey and something a little warmer, a little  _wilder_  when she inhales sharply, her fingers scorching the fabric of his shirt. 

Newt deepens the kiss in response, swiping his tongue over her soft lower lip to chase the whiskey before transferring his mouth to the hinge of her jaw. He murmurs her name in question and she gasps before sliding her fingers into his hair, tugging firmly enough to earn a whine.

“Newt,” Tina breathes and turns her head to nuzzle his neck. He shivers at the feel of her mouth over his pulse-point, the soft press of a curious tongue, and slides his arms around her waist. She steps boldly into him in response, molding her curves to the planes and angles of his form as he carefully meters his breathing.

Then her hands are insistent in his hair as she pulls him in, dragging his mouth back to hers, and the flavor of whiskey gives way to the flavor of Tina when he closes his eyes and  _burns_  like a torch in the darkness for her.

*


	6. Newtina: Pumpkin patch and maple syrup.

*

* * *

It’s a hastily scribbled addendum in her latest letter, tacked on almost as an afterthought:  _you’ll be here for Thanksgiving_ , Tina writes,  _so you’re welcome to join us if you’d like. I promise we won’t poison you!_

Newt smiles to himself while putting the cherished letter away. He performs one final check of the cabin before donning his blue jacket and fetching his case, moving through the ship in the pre-dawn darkness to await the skyline of New York.

* * *

Tina greets him with her customary hug before taking his arm, answering his inquiry about their destination with a broad wink. They land someplace windswept and chilly, the trees a riot of autumn colors as she takes his hand and leads him onto a beaten path. 

A short walk reveals a farm stand, a pumpkin patch lighting up the field behind it as apples, jars of jams and preserves and jugs of cider and other goodies entice from cheerfully-dressed shelves. Newt looks around in wonder, feeling his mouth pull into a grin as Tina tugs him toward the orange fruits.

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell  _you_  how to find a good pumpkin,” she teases as they move between the piles. Newt shakes his head, transferring his case to his other hand as he moves toward a few likely specimens.

“How many do we need?” he asks instead and is treated to the sight of Tina’s slow, secret smile. That smile  _does_  something to him, stealing his breath while making him weak in the knees, and he has to look away before he says something foolish.

“Two or three,” she murmurs, hefting a larger one. “Two for pies, one for pumpkin soup.”

Newt nods and spends a few minutes hunting down the perfect gourd before adding his selection to hers, carefully avoiding her eyes. “I’ve never had pumpkin pie,” he tells her as she leads him to the other wares. “Is it any good?”

“It’s the  _best_ ,” Tina tells him fervently, “especially when Queenie makes it.” She smirks at him from over her shoulder. “We’ll have apple pie too, and probably a strudel for Jacob. Which reminds me…”

She selects a baker’s dozen apples and gently transfers them to a canvas bag before pointing to jars of a rich-looking, amber liquid. “Maple syrup,” she says, and he glances at her for the reverence in her tone. “Just like when we were kids.”

He squints at the jars before hefting one, finding it lighter than he expects. “Another American delicacy,” he murmurs. “How do you use it?”

Tina reaches out to pluck it from his hands. “It’s sweet, so you can use it however you want. When we were kids, Queenie and I–well, our Grandfather kept owls but he also had a spread with  _tons_  of maple trees. We would help with syrup every year, tapping the trees, collecting the sap and boiling it off.” She looks past him, her expression dreamy. “Then he’d make stacks of pancakes in the morning. It’s no wonder Queenie’s such a good cook–she learned it from him, I think.”

Newt takes her hand, relieved when she confidently squeezes him back. “I’m sure you’re a perfectly capable cook yourself,” he murmurs for lack of anything better to say and is rewarded with another dazzling smile.

“Maybe,” Tina says, modestly ducking her head as her cheeks turn inexplicably pink. “I’ll make my mother’s sausage and potato stuffing, then we’ll see what you think come Thursday.”

“I look forward to it,” Newt says, making sure to catch her eye as he laces their fingers together. Her smile changes into something soft, her cheeks crinkling happily.

“I’m sure you do,” she breathes, and her hand remains solidly in his as she pays for their purchases before allowing him to carry their bags, her eyes bright.

*


	7. Queenewt: Fireplace, knitting.

*

It’s the gentle click of needles sliding against each other that lures Queenie into the living room, the gentle swell of her stomach preceding her around the corner.

She finds her husband seated in the newly-installed rocking chair, the very tip of his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he knits. The faint flicker of firelight dapples his features, and there’s a skein of soft cream-colored wool at his feet. Queenie tunes into the run of his thoughts, picking up the pleasant hum of  _pure contentment_ , before smiling softly.

“Newt? Whatcha doin’, honey?”

His bangs fall into his eyes when he turns his head, flashing needles falling still. He smiles at her before holding up a tiny pair of pants, cheeks pinkening. “Er–I wasn’t sure we had enough nappy covers,” he explains, “so I got into some of the special wool Mother sent along and thought to remedy that.”

Queenie smoothes a hand over her belly, delighting  _again_  in the new life growing there, before pointing her wand at the hearth. The dying fire flares back into cheerful life, logs crackling as she summons her good Aero needles and the booties she’d been working on. “Mind if I join you?”

Newt nods and stands to usher her into the rocking chair, bending to kiss her sweetly while ensuring she has everything she needs. Queenie sighs at the relief of getting off her swollen ankles, settling the ball of yarn in her slowly dwindling lap before resuming her row.

They work together in companionable silence until Newt looks up, his eyes bright. “Are you happy, darling?”

She reaches to brush his bangs out of his face, lingering for a moment to caress his cheek. “I am,” she promises, and he grins and sends her a focused wave of  _love_  and  _adoration_  before returning to his knitting.

*


	8. Goldgramander: Fireplace.

*

The fire casts them in shadows, a moving ombromanie of hair and limbs and panting mouths.

Newt moves just so and Tina hooks her leg around him, moaning as his bronzed hands cover her breasts.

Percival cradles her head as he moves faster from behind, shivering at the sound of her gasps.

Tina sinks her fingernails into the bearskin rug, bracing herself when they quicken until they tumble together, sweaty skin shining like diamonds in the light of the fire.

Afterward, Tina stuffs a sheepskin under their heads and summons a blanket. Percival tucks her against his comfortingly broad chest, his breath a low, reassuring presence in her ear. And Newt, always the most tactile of the three, wraps himself around them both, murmuring delightedly as Tina pushes her fingers through his hair.

“Sleep,” Tina says, and uses her wand to bank the fire before extinguishing the candles.

They do, piled together like wolves as the snow swishes against the windowpanes. They lay wrapped in sheep and bear and wool until the sun rouses them, wearing matching grins as they stretch and clean and dress before striking out into the forest.

*


	9. Queenewt: Maple syrup.

*

It’s the soft cry of, “Oh,  _sugar!_ ” that pulls Newt from his revisions, absently wiping his ink-stained fingers as he hastens to the kitchen.

He finds his wife staring dejectedly at the puddle of maple syrup covering the counter, tears welling in her blue eyes as she gnaws her lip. Queenie turns to him when he puts a soothing hand on her shoulder, burying her face in his chest to hiccup as he grins into her curls.

“Don’t be upset.” He splays his fingers over the pink satin covering her back, cradling her as she trembles. “Darling, tell me: is there really any sense in crying over spilt… _syrup_?”

Queenie chuffs out a giggle before lifting her head, causing Newt to tut while dabbing at her face. She has kohl running down her cheeks, with her pink lipstick smeared all over her mouth. He uses his thumb to clean it away before kissing her–soft and slow, just like she prefers.

She allows the embrace for a few moments, molding herself to his front before lightly scraping her teeth over the hinge of his jaw. “You’re right,” she says in feathery tones, her distress of moments earlier forgotten, and uses her wand to siphon up the syrup before returning it to the jar. “It’ll still taste just as good.“ She straightens his collar with a radiant smile, her eyes finding and holding his. “You’re sweet to come for me, though.”

Newt reaches out to scoop up a stray bit of syrup, pressing it between his lips. “Not as sweet as  _you_ ,” he argues, and dips back into her mouth, winding his tongue around hers to combine the flavors.

Queenie smirks up at him when he finishes, smacking her lips theatrically. “Maybe not as sweet as  _that_ , either,” she says tartly, and affectionately swats his behind before shooing him from the kitchen. 

 

*


	10. Goldgramander: Fairs.

*

“Hold on a second,” Tina says, squeezing her eyes shut as she rests her forehead on her knees. “I think I’m gonna be sick…”

Newt automatically crouches by her side to lay a steadying hand on her shoulder, clucking soothingly as Percival, looking guilty, pockets the car keys. "Sorry,” he says, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to drive so fast. I just wanted to get here.”

Tina straightens and allows Newt to cup her cheek, his calloused thumb sweeping away the sweat dotting it. “It’s okay,” she says, and even manages a shaky smile. “I don’t usually get car sick. I just…haven’t been feeling well lately.”

Percival and Newt exchange weighty glances and Tina looks between them before nodding. “I had the same thought,” she admits, and Newt beams at her while tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I promise, I’ll test in the morning. Can we just enjoy today, please?”

Percival comes to her other side to help her up, and she smiles before fetching a few deep breaths and threading one arm through each of theirs. Tina kisses their cheeks before starting toward the sidewalk, closing her eyes as an autumnal breeze lifts her hair.

“Now…who wants to buy me a Cream Puff?” 

*


	11. Newtina: Maple syrup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a direct continuation of [chapter six](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12089193/chapters/27417546).

*

The scent of buckwheat pancakes studded with blueberries and drenched in syrup draws Tina from the bedroom–just as Newt suspected it would.

Slender arms slide around his waist just as he’s plating the last stack. Newt smiles down at the skillet before snapping the burner off and turning, pulling her into a proper embrace when she tips her head back to smile at him. “Good morning.”

Newt dips his chin to kiss her before tipping their foreheads together. “It’s a good morning  _now_ ,” he murmurs and shows a smile. “Did you sleep well, love?”

“I did until the smell of good things cooking woke me up,” Tina smirks, arching an eyebrow while looking pointedly over his shoulder. “Was that your plan? To lure me out here with a homemade breakfast?”

“Did it work?” Newt asks, only to shrug while indicating the food. “You said you liked pancakes and _insisted_ I try your maple syrup. So, since I was already up, it seemed perfectly logical to make some for breakfast.” He smiles, a little slyly, and touches the tip of her nose with his own. “Only, I  _had_  intended to bring you breakfast in bed…”

Tina reaches past him for the jar of syrup, unscrewing the lid to scoop out a generous dollop. “That’s very sweet of you,” she murmurs and pops her finger into her mouth to clean it with a playful smirk. “Still not as sweet as this, though.”

Newt feigns outrage while moving in to kiss her again, swallowing her giggles as he patiently chases the sweetness around her mouth. Tina’s body turns loose and pliant in his arms when he pulls her closer, wrapping around her to sink deep into her lips until they part with a gasp. 

“Oh,” Tina breathes and touches his jaw with trembling fingers before leaning into him. He opens his eyes to find color riding high on her cheeks, her eyes dark and serious.

Newt is unable to look away when she reaches for the amber liquid again, coating two fingers before deliberately bringing them to his face. She solemnly traces his lips until he parts them, granting her access and earning a ragged sigh when he laves them with his tongue before releasing them with a gentle pop.

_“Oh,”_  Tina says again, and her eyes sweep over him when he cups her face.

“You’re right,” Newt decides as he fans his thumb along the crest of her cheek, “it  _is_  very sweet.”

Tina has to lick her lips twice before she’s able to formulate words. “H-how sweet?”

Newt pretends to give this serious thought while tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m afraid I need to engage in further research before drawing a conclusion,” he murmurs and is rewarded with a smile that makes him weak in the knees when she pulls him in for  _more_ , murmuring his name between heated kisses as they make their clumsy way to the couch.

* * *

 

The pancakes are cold and soggy by the time they get around to eating but neither of them mind, too focused on reddened cheeks and mussed hair and the slow, secret smile of lovers to notice.

*


End file.
